


bangwI' Kos'Karii

by Doc_VUX



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Acquaintances-with- Benefits-to-Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Holosuite sparring, Hurt/Comfort, Klingon Poetry, M/M, Shedding, Violence, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 10:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doc_VUX/pseuds/Doc_VUX
Summary: Grief is hard to deal with, each person having their own coping mechanisms and rituals. Garak and Worf have wildly different methods of coping, but slowly learn they are more alike than they first thought.





	bangwI' Kos'Karii

Worf does an excellent job putting Garak back together.  
They're settled in the living room, on the sofa, and Garak's half-laying in Worf's lap, almost purring like a Terran cat.  
The Klingon know just how to pop Garak's shoulder back into the socket, making the Cardassian groan. Once the white-hot sharp pain settles into something duller, Garak cups Worf's cheek, gently pressing his chufa to Worf's ridges.  
It's horribly intimate.  
Worf swallows, then gently pushes Garak away. "You need to go to the infirmary."  
"I'm more than fine now," Garak insists. "I did agree to this arrangement, after all."  
But Worf's not so sure, all the pent-up emotions drained from him. He's concerned with Garak's clavicle, the one fractured during the heat of the moment, and Worf worries since Garak's told him he makes a terrible doctor.  
"Go see Doctor Bashir or I will drag you there myself." It's low, more than a growl though, and Garak blinks before smiling.  
"Of course. I suppose I'll need that bone fixed before you can break it again. What was it? The sign of a prosperous marriage? A happy house and many children?"  
"You are not my . . . spouse." Worf turns away from Garak, reaching for a bottle of firewine.  
It's a raw enough subject that Garak leaves it alone. Instead, he pulls on his tunic and pats Worf's knee. In the same tone he'd use to talk about silks, Garak asks, "Same time next week?"  
"No," Worf says. "Come the day after."  
Garak raises a brow ridge. This must be some new Klingon flirtation Worf's neglected to introduce him to. He nods and leaves Worf's quarters, making his way directly to infirmary, relishing in the soreness of his joints, the sharp pain of fractures, masking it all with a hint of pride.

* * *

"I don't understand what you and Worf get up to," Julian admits as he fixes the fractures. "You two shouldn't be sparring so roughly."  
"Sparring roughly is simply the Klingon way," Garak insists, feeling a bit stiff. "And you know how traditional Worf is."  
Julian rolls his eyes. "Please don't remind me."  
The only sound between them for a few moments is the hum of the the regenerators and the soft sounds of the monitors. Once Garak's clavicle is fixed, Julian gingerly presses his fingers.  
"Was breaking this necessary?" he asks.  
"You'd be impressed by how efficient a bat'leth can be in the right hands," Garak says.  
"But there's no lacerations," Julian says. "Did he punch you?"  
"Headbutted me, but that can be efficient as well."  
Julian rolls his eyes. "Just try not to break anything anymore. If you fracture your clavicle, Worf might request you join his House."  
"Elim Garak of the House of Mogh doesn't have a nice ring to it, does it?"  
Julian shakes his head. "It really doesn't."  
The doctor puts a hand on Garak's shoulder, patting gently, and finishing fixing the last few fractures before letting Garak leave.

* * *

It's not a complete lie. Worf and Garak do go to the holosuites once every two weeks.  
Worf is better with a bat'leth and puts more force into each swing. He fights honourably and fairly. When he outlasts Garak in combat, he prefers to press the blade along Garak's throat, pinning the Cardassian.  
Garak prefers the mek'leth for it's speed and how it seems to put Worf off. He prefers to use stealth, even in open areas, and drag the dagger along Worf's lower abdomen, mock-disemboweling the Klingon.  
It's usually a slow cat and mouse game. Worf appreciates the challenge Garak's dirty tricks bring and Garak always appreciates a chance to go over his stealth training.  
Most times, they don't need Julian after their holosuite escapades. Today, they do.  
The Cardassian's hand is broken from Worf stepping on him, forcing Garak to drop his mek'leth and Garak's nose is decidedly broken. Garak clings to Worf, laughing as the Klingon assists him to sickbay. Worf looks like he might be sick.  
"You're wonderful at hurting me," Garak says. A Caitian trader stares at them as they stagger out of Quark's. "Truly, Worf, I appreciate these adventures."  
"Hitting you in the face was wrong," Worf says. "I apologize."  
Garak stops the Klingon before Worf can drag him into the Infirmary. "Worf, I forgive you, but only if you promise to do it again."  
Worf cups Garak's face in one hand, serious as ever, and runs his thumb across Garak's upper lip, smearing blood across Garak's face. "It was a low blow."  
"Fighting dirty can be honourable too."  
Worf shakes his head, takes Garak's unbroken hand, and practically drags him into the infirmary.  
"Again?" Julian asks. He looks at Worf, then at Garak.  
"It was an accident, dear doctor," Garak says. "I tripped and Worf was kind enough to carry me here."  
Julian sighs, getting Garak up on one of the biobeds. "And your hand?"  
"Another accident, I assure you," Garak said, looking more at Worf than at Julian. He held out his unbroken hand to the Klingon. "Infirmaries make me anxious."  
"You didn't have a problem before," Julian notes.  
"Only because Worf threatened to put me over his shoulder and carry me in here."  
Worf sighs, taking Garak's hand. "You have no reason to be afraid. Doctor Bashir is capable."  
The regenerator hums over Garak's broken hand and the Cardassian makes an experimental fist. "It's not Julian."  
"Then what?" Worf demands.  
Garak hums, refusing to look at Worf as Julian sets his nose.  
"He wanted affection," Julian explains.  
Worf debates letting go of Garak's hand but the Cardassian intertwines their fingers, refusing to let go. Worf sighs and resigns himself to being Garak's source of affection.

* * *

Their arrangement is disrupted by Garak's shed.  
Worf insists they stay in Garak's quarters. The Cardassian appreciates it, lethargic as he is.  
When Worf arrives, Garak is shirtless in bed. The Klingon sits on the edge of the bed, petting Garak awkwardly.  
"Worf, you don't have to be here," Garak sighs, opening his eyes to look up at him. "Shedding is usually handled alone or with an intimate partner."  
"We are intimate partners," Worf says. "We spar and we . . . "  
"We have sex," Garak says plainly. "Rough sex, if we're being exact."  
"I would not let just anyone in my bed."  
Worf scratches along the back of Garak's neck, where the scales are shiny and tight. Garak purrs and sinks his claws into the sheets, enjoying the attention.  
"You still aren't obligated," Garak insists. "In Cardassian culture it is considered rude to help someone during shed without having an emotional investment in them."  
"I have an investment in you."  
“Please don’t ever phrase it like that again,” Garrak mumbles. It's quiet for a moment aside from Garak's slow, even breaths. Worf thinks he's fallen asleep and almost gets up to leave.  
"The scale oil," Garak says slowly, "if you're going to help me out of these scales we'll need it."  
Worf grabs the bottle, looking it over. "I just pour this over you?"  
Garak hums, a sound the Klingon takes as a yes.  
Worf straddles Garak's hips, careful how he places his weight, and pours the oil over Garak's shoulder blades. The Cardassian shivers and hisses something along the lines of "cold" but it's muffled. Worf places his hands on Garak's back, massaging the oil over him.  
The scales come off easier with the oil, peeling in a sheet instead of flaking. And the motion of Worf's hands seems to soothe Garak into a light doze.  
"Tell me about her," Garak says.  
"About who?"  
"Jadzia."  
Worf sighs. "She was an honourable woman. Beautiful. Intelligent. But also very childish."  
Garak makes a soft, hissing that sounds like a laugh. "Go on."  
"I . . . loved her. And now I can die knowing that I will see her in Sto-Vo-Kor."  
"Admirable," Garak says.  
Worf, by now, finishes massaging the oil into Garak's back. "Should I continue?"  
Garak nods, turning over underneath Worf. The Cardassian presents his chest to the Klingon. Worf adds more oil to Garak's chest, the Cardassian hissing. Worf massages the oil in, feeling the muscle Garak's been building up over the course of their holosuite matches, the Cardassian's bone structure.  
It would be incredibly easy to break one of Garak's ribs so Worf goes slow and careful.  
Garak closes his eyes again, seeming to go back to his dozing. Most of the scales have peeled off and Worf doesn't want to risk waking him to massage the oil lower on the Cardassian.  
He moves to leave, but Garak grabs Worf's wrist. He begs "Stay. Please."  
"You are needy and require a lot of affection," Worf says.  
He lays next to Garak anyway, pulling the Cardassian to his chest. Garak tucks his head under Worf's chin, enjoying the body heat. He makes a low, rumbling purr that vibrates both their chests.

* * *

Worf looks down at Garak, writhing, back arching, pupils enlarged. Garak drags his claws down Worf's back, drawing the faintest bit of blood as the Klingon continues pounding Garak into the bed.  
Normally, Worf would have some part of Garak broken by now. Instead, he's only bruising him. Garak looks up at the Klingon, making a hiss of dissatisfaction.  
To compensate, Worf grabs Garak's hips, rolling them so Garak's on top.  
The Cardassian raises a brow ridge. He rocks his hips furiously, enough to bruise both of them. His eyes roll back for a moment before he looks down at Worf, getting an idea.  
Garak's hands wrap around Worfs throat, squeezing gently. The Klingon makes a strangled growl, but only for show. He trusts Garak to ease up.  
And Garak does, just enough for Worf to take a breath. Then Garak squeezes again. Worf's hands find Garak's hips, guiding each motion.  
When Worf cums, it's the hardest he has in a while. Garak groans in satisfaction, letting up on Worf's throat.  
Worf pulls Garak close as they both catch their breath, Garak's head resting on Worf's chest.  
"We should clean up," Garak says.  
"In a moment."  
Garak sighs, content to simply be held.

* * *

"I want to take you to dinner," Worf says.  
"Are you going to bite me in public?" Garak asks. "I might have to say no tonight, since the Klingon restaurant - "  
"I was thinking the Vulcan cafe would make for a nice change."  
Garak raises a brow ridge. "Neither of us are vegetarians, Worf."  
"Yes. I am aware."  
"And while the Klingon restaurant is noisy, it's not the worst choice of menu," Garak admits.  
Worf offers his hand to the Cardassian, who takes it.  
"I would like . . . to kiss you," Worf admits.  
"Go ahead."  
Worf cups Garak's cheek with his free hand, taking in Garak's features. Slowly, Worf lean in, kissing Garak. The Cardassian returns the kiss, holding Worf's hand tightly.  
Worf presses his forehead to Garak's. "I should not have hurt you so badly."  
"I like pain, Worf," Garak says. "And you've seen how I handle your toy knives. If you were doing something I hated, I would have stopped you."  
Worf continues to look into Garak's face. "It was no excuse. I was taking out my anger on you."  
"I forgive you," Garak says.  
"I know you prefer . . . rougher intimate activities," Worf says. "I will oblige if you want, but I will not abuse you."  
"That's perhaps the most romantic thing you've ever said to me," Garak says.  
"I would like to pursue a romantic relationship with you." Worf runs his thumb along the lower curve of Garak's eye ridge, gently feeling the scales.  
"You're the worst at flirting I've ever met," Garak says. "But I appreciate a bit of forwardness."  
Worf makes a low growl before Garak leans in, assuring him it's a positive thing with a gentle kiss.

* * *

"Another broken collarbone," Julian says, shaking his head.  
"Well, you know what it would mean to Worf."  
Julian holds up a hand to cut Garak off. "I don't want to know, Garak. I really don't."  
"If it's any consolation, I did claw up his back terribly," Garak admits.  
Julian raises a brow.  
"He's got a dermal regenerator," Garak assures the doctor. "And he's got a second set of hands."  
Julian sighs. "I said I didn't want to know."  
"He's the most wonderful lover," Garak adds.  
Julian finished fixing the breaks and fractures. "Just be more careful, Garak. I doubt the two of you are trying for a prosperous marriage."  
Garak merely shrugs. "We'll see."

* * *

_At the Battle of Qam-Chee,_  


_when the Cowardly Five Hundred_  


_fled into the coming night,_  


_only two remained._  


Worf pauses in his reading to scratch at the back of Garak's neck, feeling the vertebrae under his fingers. Garak purrs softly, head resting on Worf's chest, delighting in the scratching.  


_Kahless the Unforgettable_  


_and Lady Lukara at his side._  


_She, taking sword in hand,_  


_fought a valiantly as any warrior._  


Garak opens his eyes, looking up at the Klingon with an icy blue stare. Worf's voice when he reads poetry is soothing, domestic in a way. While he prefers to read Klingon poetry, Garak tries to picture him with a good Enigma Tale or perhaps a Cardassian crime novel.  


_Together, in the Great Hall,_  


_back to back, hearts as one,_  


_they defeated the forces of Molor—_  


"How romantic," Garak interrupts. "Does everything have to be murder with you?"  


Worf sighs, running fingers through Garak's hair, PADD set aside. "The romance of Kahless and Lukara forms the basis of many marriage rituals."  


"Like attacking the newlyweds?"  


"Very well." Worf says. "What are Cardassian weddings like?"  


"Very simple," Garak says, "swaddled in duty to the State. And none of those fur-trimmed affairs you insist on wearing."  


"Plain weddings?"  


Garak nods. "It's to bring families together, husband and wife, for the sake of alliances and creating children."  


"You do not sound particularly interested in it."  


"I'm not fond of the idea of marrying for an alliance," Garak admits. "Anyone who marries me would be sharing in my exile, the children would have no status."  


"And anyone who marries me would share in my Discommendation."  


Garak nods. "So I've been told."  


Worf scratches under Garak's chin, between the ridges, and Garak blinks slowly. He purrs softly, the sound low and rumbling, something that can feel vibrating through their lungs, their hearts, their very bones.


End file.
